


THUNDER CRASHING IN THE DARK

by AgnesClementine



Series: FIGHTERS OF THE GOOD FIGHT [1]
Category: Supernatural, The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: Case Fic, Gen, I Don't Even Know, Pre-Canon, Self-Indulgent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-04
Updated: 2019-03-04
Packaged: 2019-11-12 00:51:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,685
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18000680
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AgnesClementine/pseuds/AgnesClementine
Summary: Diego Hargreeves just wants to get the hell away from his family after his brother's death. Chasing a case that might be a bit out of his league and meeting a certain hunter is not what he had in plan.*****************************************************AKA, Agnes has a new obsession, noticed there are no TUA&SPN crossovers and wrote this thing in two days.





	THUNDER CRASHING IN THE DARK

**Author's Note:**

> Now, the characterization is probably insanely skewed here, and this hasn't been proofread by anyone so all mistakes are my own.
> 
> No clue where this idea came from, but *shrug*
> 
> Enjoy! :)

Ben was the heart of their family ( _if they could be called that_ ). He was like glue keeping them all together no matter how much everyone pulled in their own direction, no matter how sick of each other they got. So, really, this fallout as an outcome wasn’t a surprise. Sure, they still lived under the same roof, but they stopped going to joined missions a few years ago and they never really bonded as siblings, not properly, so there was nothing holding them together anymore. It felt vaguely like a gap in the space; like their family died along with Ben.

Diego sighs softly, head leaned on the window of the moving bus, watching as streets rush by in a flurry of dark shades and bright, eye-watering spots of street lights. He loops his arms through the straps of his rucksack and hugs it closer. The last thing he needs is to get robbed if he falls asleep.

He thinks about Klaus. How he packed up in a panicked hurry of a person who is terrified of a place they're in, in a hurry of a person who doesn't need another ghost to haunt them. Diego doubts that's how it works; if anything, Ben would be bound to him, not to that damn mansion. But then again, what does Diego know? Beside that Klaus left glassy-eyed and with no intention of coming back. He thinks about him, cold and alone, and shifts in his seat uncomfortably. If he had a way of making things better for Klaus, he'd do it; but the money he gives him for food, Klaus spends on drugs, and Diego understands that he'd rather lose a hand than go back to the Academy. He wishes, for who knows what time, that he has his own apartment. He could take Klaus in, he's sure they'd figure something out.

But as it is, he doesn’t even know where Klaus is right now.

The guy in the seat next to him starts snoring, head thrown back and mouth open. _Fantastic._ Diego aims a withering look at him, even though the guy is currently dead to the world, before blowing the air through his nose harshly and turning to stare out the window again. This is going to be a long ride.

  * ●●●●



Sterling, Illinois is a relatively small town. Boring too, and nosey as hell. The moment he stepped out of the bus, Diego felt his face heat up more and more with each step. You’d think people never saw a newcomer before.

He had barely managed to get himself out of his motel room after a much-needed shower.

But here he is, sitting in the police station and waiting for the sheriff to talk to him. His fake ID and credentials are burning a hole in his pocket.

He leans forward in his seat as yet another officer leaves the sheriff’s office and bypasses him. Elbows on his knees and face in his hands, he lets out a bored puff of air, his fingers tracing a line on his cheekbone that stretches above and behind his ear, just underneath his temple.

The secretary shifts in his periphery and he catches her eyes just a second before she averts her gaze from him, hurriedly shuffling the papers on her desk.

_They obviously never did see a newcomer before, or a scar for that matter_ , he thinks, suppressing a scowl and straightening up, letting his hands fall away from his face.

It's some time after 4 pm that he's finally stepping into sheriff's office. Door softly clicks shut behind him and the man sitting behind the desk- older, burly guy with a graying beard and reading glasses- looks up at him briefly before returning to stare at his computer monitor. Diego can already tell how seriously they'll take him.

He takes a seat across from him and clears his throat. He readies his press ID. Well, fake school reporter card, but if everything is good, the sheriff won’t notice. Hopefully.

His fingers itch and he remembers that he left his knives in the motel room.

“Hi, I’m from Elkhart High. I’m here for the murders,” he says, popping his knuckles in his lap.

The sheriff looks at him, “The murders, eh?”

Diego nods, “I called, earlier.”

Sheriff hums, stroking his beard in thought, “What school did you say?”

“Elkhart High, Indiana. I’m writing an article about serial killers. And this is the closest place that has an ongoing case. I called ahead to schedule a meeting, so we can talk about that.” He tells him. If he plays this right, he might even get a shot at seeing the corpses. He tries to ignore the voice in the back of his head telling him how having Allison here would’ve been handy. Or, well, her powers, more precisely.

“Ah, yes, yes. You were that kid that called, I remember now. You wanna talk about the murders,” Sheriff says. _Which is exactly what Diego just said_.

“Yeah,” He responds slowly. “So, uh, what’s the profile you’ve come up with?”

“Profile?” Sheriff strokes his beard again, “Well, the man is obviously a demented psychopath-“

“How do you know it’s a man?”

"Wha- oh, we've concluded so from the many pieces of evidence our department managed to preserve.”

_So, it’s a guess_.

“Right,” Diego nods. He’s starting to think he’d be better off if he just sneaked around and started compiling his own clues.

“And what can you tell me about the victims?” He asks.

Sheriff sits straighter in his seat and faces him fully, “So far, there have been four casualties in the last four months. They have all been found in the forest, heavily mutilated and with their hearts missing. No connections except that they were all skilled hikers for years. Shouldn’t you be writing this down?”

Diego blinks, “No worries, I’ve got a good memory.” Besides, he’s not telling him anything that Diego can’t read in the newspaper.

Sheriff hums again and flicks his eyes to the scar on Diego’s face. He opens his mouth to say something- and Diego is getting ready to tell him to mind his own business- when the door flies open and the secretary pokes her head in.

“There’s been another one,” she says, disappearing again and both Diego and the sheriff jump to their feet.

“This is all, I guess. Good luck with your paper,” the man tells him quickly and insincerely.

“Uh, hey. What are the chances of letting me in the morgue?” Diego asks directly, trying for that smile that Ben always used to make them do as he wants. It was mostly used to make them make up after a fight, if Diego is being honest. And it worked every time.

He’s probably doing it wrong because sheriff frowns at him.

"Sorry, kid. An open investigation, it's against the rules," he tells him gruffly and leaves. It's stupid of him, really, because that means Diego is alone. In his office.

He takes the opportunity and sniffs around until he finds the case file under a burger wrapper on his desk. He shoves it underneath his shirt and makes his exit before he becomes suspicious.

  * ●●●●



Coming to the morgue was, in retrospect, a bad idea. But in his defense, he only has just enough self-control to not roll his eyes at everything his dad says.

As it is, he waits for the body to arrive and the cops to leave, then makes his way across the street and with every ounce of fake confidence strolls right in. They try to turn him around, but give in when he manages to sell them a story how the sheriff approved it, but doesn’t have time to call. _New murder and all that, you know how it is_.

So Diego puts on a face mask, latex gloves, and that rubber apron thingy, and watches as the coroner makes the first cut in an already awfully mangled body, fist-shaped hole in the chest, off-center to the left. Where the heart should be.

It’s all good until rib cutters come into play. The first snip and Diego cringes at the sound, goosebumps breaking over his skin uncomfortably. Second, his toes curl and his teeth clench as he’s resisting a full body shudder. Third, he’s blinking away an image of Ben’s terrified face. Fourth, the cracking of bones is accompanied by screaming; Ben, Allison, Luther, Klaus, him. Fifth snip and he’s excusing himself, tearing off the apron and gloves and the mask, and hurrying out into the hallway.

He brushes against the wall harshly with his shoulder, leaning against it for support and sinks down until he's sitting on the floor. It feels like his brain is doing circles in his skull, spinning, and spinning. He heaves, thanks the fuck he didn't have time to eat and grips his upper arms painfully as he hugs himself.

Eyes closed, he tries to regulate his breathing. He doesn’t know how much time passes before his stomach stops rolling, but it eventually happens, accompanied by a headache. 

He hears footsteps nearing and stifles a groan.

For a ridiculous moment, he thinks it's Dad. That he came to check on him, that he somehow knows Diego is not doing so great; but then he remembers that, these days, Reginald Hargreeves would hardly leave that study of his even if the Academy was on fire.

Footsteps stop right in front of him, “You okay, kid?”

He looks- squints ( _everything is so bright_ )- up at a man in a suit, scruffy and tired looking.

He nods, “I’m fine, thanks,” and slowly rises to his feet. His knees are embarrassingly weak and he leans against the wall once more, feigning casualness.

The man gives him an assessing once over and nods at him before going forth and disappearing behind the autopsy hall’s door.

Diego takes a moment more to collect himself before making his exit.

The Sun outside has already dimmed enough that the light is not messing with his eyes, and he zips up his jacket, stomping down the sidewalk. This was a waste of time. It looks like he'll really have to start from scratch.

  * ●●●●



“How is the mission going?”

Diego spreads the photos from the third crime scene on the carpet, phone jammed between his shoulder and ear, “Alright, I guess. I’m starting clean. Going to check the crime scenes in a bit.”

“Oh, that’s interesting,” his mom says, puttering around the kitchen by the sound of it, “but be careful.”

A warm feeling like smoke curls around his chest and he smiles at the photo of blood splattered tree bark, “Thanks, Mom. I will be.”

She hums, satisfied.

“I have to go finish dinner. I love you, Diego.”

“Love you too, Mom.”

He ends the call and slips his phone in his jacket pocket. His eyes skim over the photos once more, looking for defining landmarks, before he picks out one and stands up. He grabs a handful of his throwing knives and a flashlight, forgoing a map because there's not a lot of forest to get lost in if he's being honest.  It's 7 pm, so he better hurry up. He’s got this.

  * ●●●●



He does not ‘got this’.

He swears to himself, shining his flashlight on the photo in his hand again, then makes a 360 degrees spin, flashing the flashlight around a few times. He wonders if life is going out of its way to spite him because he most definitely _is lost_. He’s a city boy, the countryside is not his thing, okay?

He lets his arms fall to his sides and huffs. This is great. Seriously fantastic. He really wanted to get lost in a forest, in the middle of the night, when there’s a serial killer on a prowl. And all that after he promised his mom he’d be careful.

_Diego Hargreeves, the breaker of windows and promises_ , that’s what will be written underneath his statue. He should have said he doesn’t want a statue when he had a chance.

He sighs, slumping in resignation that he’ll just have to stay here until the sunrise and then try to retrace his steps back to the town- and then freezes on the spot when a light briefly shines on him before falling away.

He presses his own flashlight in his stomach to prevent it from giving away his location (again) and stays very, very still. The other person probably had the same idea, as the spot of light ahead of him, among the trees, goes out a moment later.

The wind picks up and Diego holds his breath, one hand sneaking into his pocket to grasp around the hilt of a knife. He can’t hear anything over the wind howling, feels the cold now that he’s forced himself to stop moving.

It’s too dark to see anything properly without a flashlight, but he thinks he catches a silhouette advancing towards him. His heart in his throat, he shuffles a few slow steps forward because _if you get a chance, attack them before they attack you_.

He’s silent and graceful and deadly- right until a beam of light flashes in his face and he copies the trick, throwing himself at his attacker without a tact.

Momentarily blinded, they both tumble down on the ground, his opponent hissing out, "Son of a bitch," as he takes Diego's weight. Diego lets go of the flashlight, knife on backup for now and runs his hands over the unfamiliar face, searching for eyeballs.

"Rude," he remarks, trying to dig his thumbs in. The guy splutters, jerking his head to the side and trying to dislodge him, hands griping Diego's wrists painfully. It doesn't feel like the guy is any bigger than him, and he had a lifetime of fights and sparring training with Luther, so it doesn't really register as dangerous.

He suddenly loses leverage when they roll over- a knee in his side, _fucking ouch_ \- and strikes out before the guy can get his hands around Diego’s throat. There’s a surprised, yelled out curse- and then the weight lifts off of him.

Diego immediately jumps to his feet.

“Okay, wait, wait! Time out, Jesus Christ!” The guy almost shouts, his flashlight sending out broad strokes of light as he gestures with his hands.

Diego stays put, but ready to kick his ass if needed.

“Point that flashlight in my face again and you’ll be picking up your teeth,” he lets him know, rolling his shoulders.

The guy huffs, “Noted.” He starts walking in the same direction he came from and hesitantly asks, “So, are you here for the murders?”

Diego snatches his own flashlight from the ground and scowls, falling into step with him without much thought, “No, I felt like taking a midnight stroll through the woods. What do you think?”

He's being a dick, but the guy scared the living daylight out of him. He’s entitled to a bit of dickishness.

The guy scoffs. “Fine. You’re always such an asshole?”

“Only after my brother d-dies,” he says before he can stop himself.

The guy falters in his next step, but catches up to Diego in a second, “Oh, I- Sorry, that sucks.”

Diego makes a face at the illuminated spot in front of him, “Yeah.” He doesn’t want to talk about that.

“You know how to get out of here?” He asks, switching the topic.

He can hear a smirk in the response, “Sure do. Not much of a hiker, huh?”

Diego snorts, “You have no idea.”

“Hey, um, I’m Dean,” the guy introduces himself.

“Diego,” he responds, still feeling ridiculously giddy whenever he says his own name out loud.

“You pack a mean punch, Diego,” Dean tells him. Diego imagines him rubbing his jaw in pain.

“Thanks.”

“That wasn’t a compliment, you jackass,” Dean says grumpily, but it doesn’t sound like a real insult, so he laughs.

  * ●●●●



“This is not the motel,” Diego remarks as Dean parks his car- a gorgeous ’67 Chevy Impala- in front of a diner.

“I trekked through the woods and got attacked tonight. I need food,” Dean tells him before getting out.

Diego rolls his eyes because he just won’t let that scuffle go. This is the third time he mentioned it during the ride.

Dean pokes his head back in and asks, “You coming, or what?”

He blinks and scrambles out of the car. He figured Dean was only going to grab something to go; looks like he forgot that normal people do in fact eat in diners. Maybe he could pitch that idea to Dad- and promptly get disowned.

Wouldn’t be such a bad thing, he sees the man during mealtimes only anyway.

They take a booth near the window, ignoring the curious glances of the waitress and her single customer, a man who was a moment prior writing furiously in his notebook. He’s wearing a stripped bed robe, so Diego thinks he can keep his judgment to himself, thank you very much.

_They don’t even look that bad_ , he thinks, sneaking a glance at their reflections in the window. He picks a stray leaf out of his hair and shakes some dirt off his clothes. Dean works his jaw, rubbing the slowly darkening spot with his palm.

Diego snatches the menu from the table and flips through it, looking for inspiration because he’s not hungry at the moment. Everything looks like it’s designed to clog his arteries though.

The waitress, Tiffany, approaches them, "What can I get you, boys?"

Dean lounges in his seat, flashes her a smile, and says, “A cheeseburger and a beer.”

Diego is pretty sure he’s not old enough to drink beer yet. Waitress seems to think the same, giving him a condescending look, but caving in when he amps up his smile. She sighs and writes down his order.

“And for you?” She asks, eyeing his face curiously. He really hopes she doesn't recognize him; the Umbrella Academy is not really known countrywide (thankfully), but there's always an odd weirdo or two who keep tabs on the special kind of strange that Diego and his siblings are.

“Just a glass of milk, thanks,” he says. He had enough broken bones to last him a lifetime; this is just a ridiculous thing that makes him feel better.

The waitress looks at him in surprise, but jots it down as well anyway. “Oh-kay. It’ll be right up.”

When she leaves, Diego looks over at Dean to find him staring at him.

“What?”

Dean shakes his head, “You just keep getting weirder, man.”

“Thanks.”

“Still not a compliment.”

“Everything is a compliment if you look at it that way,” he responds.

Dean looks up in thought, then shrugs. “True.” He clears his throat and leans a bit over the table, like he’s got something important to say. Diego mimics his pose, waiting.

“So, are you, you know, hunting?” He whispers.

Diego blinks, “Hunting?” He frowns, “It’s not even the hunting season.”

“No, like, are you _hunting_?”

“…you’ve lost me.”

Dean sighs and looks at him suspiciously. “I can’t tell if you’re pulling my leash or not. Are you a hunter?”

Diego shakes his head. “No.”

“What were you doing in the woods, then?”

“Looking for clues.”

Dean leans forward an inch more, “So you _are_ working on a case?”

“Yeah?”

“But you’re not a hunter?”

“You keep saying that like it’s making sense. It isn’t.”

Dean huffs, “You’re looking for the thing- _guy_ who’s responsible for the murders, right?”

“Yeah. This has a point or…?”

Dean raises his hands to placate him, “Why? Out of the goodness of your heart?”

Diego frowns. He never liked that question.

He shrugs, "Dunno. Feels like the right thing to do."

The waitress clears her throat and they jerk away, back into their seats, so she can set down Dean’s food and their drinks. As soon as she’s gone, Dean takes a huge bite out of his burger.

He chews and asks, once more, “So, you’re not a hunter?”

“I still have no idea what that means, but no.”

“Huh, neat,” Dean responds and points at him with his beer bottle before taking a sip, “I’ll tell you later.”

Diego focuses on his glass of milk because Dean’s table manners are awful.

  * ●●●●



“Let me get this straight,” Diego starts after a beat of silence, “you hunt monsters? Like vampires and that stuff?”

Dean nods, “Yep.”

“Cool.”

“Cool? That’s all you’ve got to say?”

One of his brothers has super-strength, the other can (in theory) talk to the dead, the third could space jump; he got lost in time, at least that’s what everyone thinks, so time jumping doesn’t count for Diego. Ben could summon monsters from his skin and Allison alters reality with her words. His mom is a robot and Pogo is a chimpanzee. There’s not a lot that can throw him off.

“Pretty much.”

Dean slumps in the driver’s seat, “Well, that’s underwhelming.”

Diego hums, shrugging and checks the time on his phone. He doesn’t even know if it’s worth going to sleep now.

He’s tired though, so he bids Dean goodbye and drags himself to his room.

Once he collapses on the bed, fresh out of the shower, he fumbles for his phone and dials Klaus. It rings into eternity and Diego hangs up with a sigh once it switches to voicemail. 

  * ●●●●



8 am has him jerking out of the bed with a start as someone knocks on his door. He yawns wide enough that his jaw pops and pulls on a fresh change of clothes on his way to the door. He holds a knife in his hand and then slips it in his back pocket when Dean strolls in as soon as he opens the door.

“You’re awake, goodie. If you still want to solve the case, wanna tag along with me?”

Diego blinks because he’s _so not awake_ , but nods too, “Where are we going?”

“House touring, c’mon,” Dean says, turning and leaving as fast as he arrived.

“I didn’t brush my teeth yet!” Diego yells after him even as he’s stepping into his boots and grabbing his jacket.

  * ●●●●



Dean drops him off at the fourth victim's house, going to the latest's himself, and then they search the house of the third victim together. The houses were all empty, devoid of anyone's presence as the residents- and other town folks- were attending the funeral.

The house is nothing out of ordinary. Diego finds all the same things he found in the other house; normal house stuff (minus toys, this couple didn’t have any children) and a closet full of hiking equipment. He picks up a map with a trail marked on it and folds it, so it fits in his jacket’s pocket.

Dean is banging around the kitchen downstairs and Diego is making his way down the stairs when his phone starts ringing.

He fishes it out of his jacket and scrambles to answer the call when he sees the caller’s ID.

“Klaus? That you?”

There's a beat of silence where his stomach ties itself into knots, and then Klaus' voice, loud and pitched higher than normal, comes through.

“Diego! Hi!”

He sounds happy in that surefire way that says he’s just barely coming down from his high.

“Yeah, hey. You’re okay?” He asks him.

“Oh, yeah. Yeah, I’m great. _Diego_. Diego, I feel so great,” Klaus responds, his voice wavering like he’s stumbling in his step. Or maybe rolling on the floor. Both are realistic when it comes to him.

“I bet you do,” Diego says instead of ‘ _did you eat?_ ’ and ‘ _I miss you_ ’ and ‘ _please stop poisoning yourself_ ’. He doesn’t want to argue over a phone, and Klaus would just hang up on him anyway.

“Oh! I had an amazing dream! Are you coming over so I can tell you?”

His heart clenches painfully.

"Not today, but soon. I'll come to see you soon, promise," he assures him.

“Aww, okay,” Klaus whines. If he were at least a little bit sober, he’d crack a joke. And then Diego would snort, tell him to go fuck himself and hang up feeling lighter. This way he only has the bitterness of words that don’t mean enough.

There’s shuffling on Klaus’ end, some voices in the background and then Klaus is shouting, “Oh! Pizza is here! Bye, Diego!” into the speaker and hanging up before Diego can say anything else.

He sighs, clicking his phone shut and shoving it back into his jacket. When he looks up from his hands, Dean is waiting for him at the bottom of the stairwell.

“Girl?”

“Brother.” Diego corrects him, quickly walking down the steps.

“Oh, you have more than one?”

Diego smirks, “Four.”

Dean whistles.

“And two sisters.”

Dean’s eyebrows jump in surprise, "Wow. Youngest? Oldest?”

“We’re the same age,” he says simply.

He watches as Dean ponders over it for a moment before saying, “We’re adopted.”

“Ahh. Gotcha. That’s wild, how do you put up with each other?”

Diego makes a face at his back as they make their way to the back door, responding dryly, “Barely.”

Dean doesn’t ask about his family anymore, probably gauging from his tone it’s not a topic Diego likes to discuss. Smart guy.

He thinks about their conversation yesterday and asks, “Hey, what do you think killed those people?”

Dean looks at him over his shoulder, “Well, their hearts are missing, on top of everything, so a werewolf.”

“A werewolf?”

“Yup. Oh, and the murders happened on the full moon. So there’s that.”

“Right,” he agrees and Dean shakes his head at him.

“You’re really taking this all in stride,” he remarks, to which Diego simply shrugs.

They leave the house and sneak over the fence back to the car. Sun warm and steadily rising on the sky, it reminds Diego he forgot to call back home last night.

Just as the thought crossed his mind, a shrill ring cuts through the air and he makes a move to grab his phone before realizing it’s Dean’s that’s ringing.

He leans against the side of the car as Dean flips it open and answers.

“Hello? Yeah, I just left the Boyles’ house,” he scratches his neck as he listens to the response, “Uh-huh. Okay, I got it,” he says and closes his phone.

“My dad found out there’s a hiking trail they all used,” he says as a means of explanation.

Diego raises his eyebrows, “Your dad?”

“Yeah, we’re hunting together. There’s my brother, too, but… he’s not really sold on the whole family business thing.”

Diego can’t imagine working _with_ Dad. Like, spending actual time with the man. He’d probably go insane or kill him. Possibly both.

“You up for a hike or did yesterday traumatize you too much?” Dean asks, rounding the car and Diego snorts.

“Last time I checked, _you_ were the one getting your ass kicked.”

  * ●●●●



The gravel crunches underneath the tires as Dean eases the car into the park next to a blue Jeep. There's a wooden structure declaring the "registration office closed" near the edge of the forest, a dirt trail with a ramp to prevent vehicles from going further than this. Dean swears, "Damn, I was hoping to get a map there."

Diego fumbles through his pockets, wondering if it’s possible he’s got at least a bit of luck. He feels Dean’s eyes on him while he unfolds the maps from the houses and compares them. He shows them to Dean, finger following a pen marked route.

“Want to bet this is the trail your dad talked about?”

Dean blinks at the papers and then grins wide. It makes the corners of his eyes crinkle and Diego secretly preens at “ _Nice,_ ” he throws out.

  * ●●●●



The Sun can’t pass through the treetops, but the humidity makes Diego regret not leaving his jacket in the car. He grabs the hem of his shirt and shakes it, trying to cool his skin just a bit, while Dean curses next to him. He’s keeping up with Diego almost effortlessly, which is impressive, but the weather is making both of them drag their feet.

“Gah, hiking fucking sucks,” Dean complains.

“Amen,” Diego agrees wholeheartedly, stomping over a tree root.

He pulls off his jacket and ties it around his waist because otherwise, he's going to collapse from a heat stroke. He wishes they brought water, but they obviously underestimated the length of this trek. And also because they’re idiots who decided to go hiking in the middle of a day.

At least he can see where he’s going this time.

He barely knows Dean for a day, but he’s starting to see that he’s one of those loud, motor-mouth types. He’s providing a running commentary about all the types of monsters that hide in the forests, and his stubbornness is admirable considering he’s taking in gasps of air every second sentence or so. Diego would’ve told him to shut up, but the topic is actually pretty interesting. With or without Dean’s huffing.

"So, the vampires are nasty fuckers," he speaks as they arrive at a clearing, "but they're pretty much extinct now- my dad hunted a nest, like, once and- of, hey," Dean says, shutting up after who knows how long when he walks into Diego's back.

“What gives, man?”

Diego looks down at the map, “This is the end. I guess this is where they turn around and head back?”

Dean looks out at the glade, grass tall and green and swaying with a faint breeze, “Huh, probably.”

“I was hoping there’d be a hut or something,” he admits to Diego to which he shrugs.

“Or your werewolf?”

Dean shrugs, “Hey, I’d take either. I’m not picky.”

Diego gives up and plops down on the grass, kicking his legs out to give them a break. He checks his phone and it doesn't have a signal here. _Perfect_.

He sighs, appreciating the fresh air now that he can actually breathe it in without feeling like his throat is filling up with warm cotton.

“How does that hunting thing work exactly?”

Dean frowns at him and sits down as well, “What do you mean?”

“Like, is there a system? How do you find your… _cases_?” He squints at the sky, feeling like the word is not completely adequate, “Hunts?”

Dean shrugs, "Newspaper, Internet. Sometimes hunters tip-off hunts to each other if they're already busy."

“And what if two of them find the same case?”

“They either work together or one of them fucks off. Mostly the one that came in later.”

“The first one gets the girl, huh?” Diego jokes and lays back.

The silence lasts a couple of seconds and Diego is embarrassingly close to dozing off when Dean speaks up again.

“Am I allowed to ask or am I gonna get punched if I do?”

Diego cracks one eye open to squint at him, “Ask what?”

Dean jerks his chin in the direction of his face, “The scar.”

“Which one?”

He’s being intentionally dense now, just for the kicks because he’s curious how Dean will get out of this. He's got a lot of scars; it has to happen when you're handling knives since you were a kid and have also grown up with six siblings. The only ones on his face are the one on his right cheekbone and the one on his left brow. The latter he got when Luther smacked him in the face with a cupboard door hard enough to give him a concussion. It was accidental (there is a lot of accidentally broken bones and other injuries between the two of them), and a reliable source (Klaus) told him Luther cried after he passed out, but at the time Diego- he’s not proud of it, okay?- felt like a justifiable comeback was to stab- just a little bit, like, an inch- Luther on their next sparring session.

Dean gives him a ‘don’t fuck around’ look, “The big one. Close shave or something?”

Diego feels his lips twitch and snorts, “Or something.”

Dean does an exaggerated eye-roll, “That explains absolutely _nothing_ ,” he says sounding frustrated.

Diego grins and jumps to his feet, “Let’s go. I’m hungry.”

“Oh, okay. None of my business. Got it.”

  * ●●●●



“But seriously, what’s your deal?” Dean asks, pointing a fry at him before popping it in his mouth.

“My deal?”

“Yeah. What, you just go around solving cases, fighting crime? Are you like Batman? Tell me, do you have a spandex suit under that?”

“No, and yeah, pretty much.”

Dean squints at him, “Wait. Which is which?”

“Yes to fighting crime, no to spandex suit.”

_It’s leather_. And he had left it at the Academy.

“Huh. And your family is okay with that? Do they know?”

Diego slurps his milkshake, coming up with an answer, “Yeah, they’re fine with it,” he makes a face then, remembering how Dad is not too happy with him finding his own cases, “Well, they mostly are.”

Dean hums.

Almost like they can sense Diego talking about them, his phone rings and the screen lights up with their house number.

“Hello? M-“

“Mission report,” Dad’s voice comes through, sharp and cold. Diego scowls, good mood immediately ruined.

“Everything is fine.”

“You haven’t reported back since yesterday.”

Of course, Dad keeps tabs on the calls.

“I was following a clue, the signal cut off,” he could have called in the morning, or when he came back last night because he knows Mom would be awake to take the call, but Dad doesn’t know that.

Dean watches him curiously, chewing his cheeseburger. There’s one for him too, still sitting untouched on his plate and looking slightly intimidating with the amount of grease pooling around it.

Dad harrumphs on the other side.

“And have you made any progress?”

“Actually, I have.”

“Enough to finish the mission?” Dad asks like he’s sure Diego is out of his depth. Just as he always thinks.

Diego grits his teeth, “Soon. I’m waiting for the right time.” Full moon, if Dean is right. So, two days from now.

“Patience is a virtue, but so is efficiency, Number Two,” Dad says, a toneless reprimand.

“W-wise fucking words,” Diego spits and hangs up. He shoves the phone in his jacket with a glower, snapping out of it when Dean whistles lowly.

“And I thought you looked angry before,” he remarks lightly. Diego is glad he’s not poking at the reason of his sudden sour mood.

“I’ve been told I have a resting bitch-face,” he deadpans.

“And people who told you that are still alive?”

_Two of them are_.

He snorts and gingerly picks up his burger. Wrinkling his nose, he says, “I feel like it’s going to slip out of my hands.”

“Then hold it properly,” Dean responds.

He takes the first bite and it’s rich and full and heavy flavored. It settles heavily in his stomach, but, God, he’s hungry and it actually tastes good. Still, he can’t finish the whole thing.

Half of it unfinished, he sets it back on the plate and shoves it away from himself with a groan.

Dean makes an ‘oh, well' expression and picks it up like he didn’t just eat his own. _Plus the fries_. Diego can’t believe him.

“Are you serious?”

Dean shrugs, taking a bite, “A burger is a burger.”

Diego feels nauseous just watching him.

 “Ugh,” he says and leans back.

  * ●●●●



The next day is nothing special. Diego looks at the crime photos some more, even though there’s no need for it. He files some details away in his mind for possible future reference. It occurs to him how messed up that actually is; his whole life is like one of Klaus' crazy ecstasy trips, so this doesn't seem all that weird, but he realizes how many things there are out there that he can't stop with a flick of his wrist. There are _things_ that his knives can’t kill.

It's terrifying because fighting for people, good, innocent people who need help is the only thing he's good at. It's the only thing he knows how to do and if he can't even do that properly, what the hell is he supposed to do?

He mopes around for the rest of the day, barely resisting calling Mom or Klaus, just to hear their voices, and goes to bed ridiculously early.

  * ●●●●



He’s burning the case file above a trash can at the edge of the motel’s parking lot the next morning, planning on watching TV until Dean comes to grab him and they get ready to, uh, _hunt_ that bastard, when a police cruiser rolls up on the other side. The siren whoops and Diego swears, pulling on his hood. He turns to the file, set on top of almost overflowing trash can, seeing that a good chunk of it is still intact and definitely won’t burn out by the time the cops approach him. He keeps his back to them, listens to their footsteps as they grow louder and closer.

“Hey, kid. Step away from the trash can,” comes from his left side. He takes a slow, small step backward to the left.

“More. Get all the way back. And hands where I can see them.”

He doesn’t move again, but puts his hands up slowly.

The cop huffs, getting closer. Diego keeps his eyes on the trash can. He knows the exact moment the cop notices and recognizes the file because he says, “What the fuck?”

And then Diego spins around, kneeing him in the gut and pulls his gun out of its holster, whipping him across the head with the butt of it. As the cop sinks to the ground, he fires off a shot that allows him to make a beeline for his room before his partner can get his bearings back. He bursts through the door and grabs his rucksack- he didn't unpack, thankfully- then makes his exit through the window on the other side of the building. He can already hear more sirens approaching and takes off in a run.

_Shit_.

  * ●●●●



He is pleasantly surprised and relieved when he sees a black Impala turn into the diner’s parking lot. He doesn’t have his number, so he could only hope that Dean would come to look for him here. He gets out of the car, head turning as he scans the front of the diner.

Diego steps out of his hide, a side entrance of an abandoned building across the street bathed in shadows, so Dean can see him. When he does, eyes widening a fraction, he subtly jerks his head toward the car and gets in.

Diego quickly jogs over, trying to attract as little attention as possible and slides into the passenger seat.

“What the fuck?” Is the first thing out of Dean’s mouth, “I come to pick you up, the place is swarming with cops.”

“It’s complicated,” Diego says rather than admitting he almost got caught because someone called the cops on him for what wasn’t even a proper fire. “How about we go somewhere where people can’t see my face,” he hisses out.

Dean lifts his hands in surrender and starts the car.

  * ●●●●



They stop at another motel and Dean leads him into a room that is lined with salt. There is a boy, shaggy-haired like Klaus when he used to make effort in keeping his hair neat, reading a book.

He looks up at the two of them, eyeing Diego suspiciously and calling out a tense, “Dean.”

“Chill, Sammy,” Dean responds, shrugging off his jacket and draping it over a chair, “Diego, Sammy-”

“It’s Sam.”

“-Sammy, Diego,” he says quickly and then asks, “Is dad in his room?”

Sam furrows his eyebrows, “I think so.”

Dean claps his hands, “Great. I’ll be back in a sec.”

And then he rushes out.

Diego looks at Sam. Sam looks at him.

His phone rings. It pierces the silence and he fumbles to answer it. It’s Klaus.

“Hello?”

There’s weird rustling sound, and noise that vaguely sounds like it could be a song in the distance, and giggling. So, Klaus is high and has butt dialed him again. He’s thankful that he can’t tell what are the voices saying because he suspects it would mentally scar him for some time. He stifles a sigh and hangs up.

“How do you know Dean?” Sam asks him.

_I kicked his ass in the forest_.

“We’re working on the same case.”

Kid’s expression turns judgmental, “You’re a hunter.”

“Actually, no. It’s complicated,” he says simply.

Sam just hums sharply and goes back to his book. Diego sits at the table, setting his rucksack on the floor.

He wonders what the rest of his siblings are doing. Luther and Allison are probably together on the roof (they think they’re being sneaky, but Diego can hear them stomping around when everyone goes to sleep), and Vanya is either practicing her violin or reading. He hopes Ben is with Klaus, even if they can’t interact. Just so they’re not alone. Out of all people in their family, they’re the last ones to deserve that.

The door opens and Dean slips back in, looking like he just got out of a principal meeting for causing a food war in the cafeteria.

“Okay, so, we’re going out after sundown,” he announces, then winces and says, “We, as in my dad and I.”

Diego is not impressed, “Nice try.”

“Hey, you’re free to go talk to him yourself.”

“But?”

“I also think you should stay? Hunting a werewolf is not the same as kicking a mugger in the balls.”

Diego will pretend he didn’t hear that.

“Room number?”

Dean sighs and says, “The first one to the left.”

Diego doesn’t know what he’ll say to the man, but that doesn’t matter anyway because his mind blanks out with embarrassment when the door opens.

It’s the man from the morgue.

Diego would kill to have Five’s powers right now.

The man looks at him with recognition, “You’re the kid from-“

“Yep. Feeling much better now, ready to go tackle some werewolves.”

The man snorts, “I appreciate the eagerness, but it’s safer for you to stay out of it.”

“It’s my case too. I deserve to be there to finish it,” Diego says, carefully pronouncing the words.

The man observes him analytically for a quiet moment. Then he says, “Dean tells me you’re not a hunter.”

“Yeah. So?”

Dean’s dad sighs, “Hunting monsters is not a piece of cake job, kid. They’re faster and stronger and they’re out for blood.”

So just like his siblings.

He huffs, “I can deal with that.” When he still doesn’t look convinced, Diego adds, “It’s my decision, so it’s gonna be on me if I get eaten by a werewolf anyway.”

“You’re real stubborn, huh?”

“I get that a lot.” _Usually in a way less flattering tone, though_.

The man huffs out a chuckle, “What the hell then.”

  * ●●●●



“I can’t believe you’ve actually managed to change his mind,” Dean tells him through a mouthful of popcorn.

“I’m charming like that,” Diego says although he actually has no idea what made Dean’s dad to change his mind.

They’re watching some “low-budget horror slasher”, as Dean had dubbed it, waiting for Sun to go down. Sam is sprawled over a sofa, his nose still in that book, but Diego catches him sneaking glances at the screen every couple of minutes. He’s stopped glaring at Diego when he took his side in popcorn vs. licorice argument, so Diego thinks they’re cool now.

He doesn’t watch the movie as much as he’s observing Sam and Dean. They’re constantly bickering, but it’s easy and not at all mean as bickering gets with his own siblings. They actually get along, and it catches Diego off balance. He thought all siblings (alright, most of them) hated each other at least a little bit. But then again, he remembers getting along with his own- until Dad started pitching them against each other.

Just another thing in a long line of things Reginald Hargreeves fucked up.

“So, what are you gonna do after we get this bastard?”

He blinks out of his musings, turning to Dean, “Huh? Oh. Go home, I guess,” he did say he’d come to visit Klaus, “Then find a new case. You?”

Dean shrugs, “Back on the road. When are you leaving?”

“There’s a midnight bus I’m hoping to catch. Or the one in the morning.”

“Lucky you,” Sam pipes up bitterly, “having an actual home to get back to.”

“Sam,” Dean scolds him.

Diego resists a snort because, _oh boy_ , he has _no idea_ how much Diego does _not_ want to go back.

“Yeah, complete with asshole siblings,” he says.

“I’ve got one of those too,” Sam says cheekily, grinning innocently when Dean whips to gape at him with betrayal.

“Oh, wow, _thanks_. Bitch.”

“Jerk.”

Amazing.

  * ●●●●



He didn’t realize it until they park near the forest and Dean’s dad starts the lesson by pressing a flashlight in Diego’s hand with, “Stay close.”

He’s terrified. Utterly, like when Dad left him in that concrete, bare room, alone and with no explanation after Diego pulled the classic “holds breath until they get what they want” tantrum when he was 4. It lasted four hours, but Diego got hungry and had asked Mom if he could _please get a sandwich_.

He thought he’d have to stay there forever because the thought that Dad forgot about him wasn’t so farfetched, even back then.

Fingers curled around the flashlight, there’s a strange sense of déjà vu when they’re walking through the forest barely illuminated by the moonlight. He pushes down his nerves, trying to ignore the weight of a gun that was trusted upon him after it was established that he knows how to use it.

(His specialty and favorites might be knives, but that doesn’t mean other weapons he uses don’t hit the target just as well.)

He’s actually feeling slightly sick with nerves, but it’s good. Feeling uneasy makes him alert and being alert makes sure he doesn’t end up as dog chow. Dean’s dad (John, he thinks) walks ahead of them, Dean by his side as they silently stalk through the night.

_Aim for the heart_ , he’s been told. _Don’t let it bite you. It’s game over then_.

He wonders what would happen if he dies tonight. Would they get worried after he stops calling back? Would they be sad?

He wonders if he’d see Ben after he dies.

He wonders when the hell he turned into such a sap.

And he’s starting to think (hope, really, and not wanting to go back home is not the only reason, though he can’t pinpoint it) that tonight is going to waste. They’ve been walking around for a good chunk of time already and there was no ‘w’ of a werewolf anywhere in sight.

John stops, probably thinking along the same lines because he says, “We should split up.”

Dean tenses, “You sure?”

“We’ll cover more ground that way. I’ll go East, you two go West.”

Dean doesn’t look too pleased, but nods all the same, “Alright. Be safe, Dad.”

“You boys too. Meet-up at the car, if you or I are not there by midnight, shit hit the fan.”

“Got it,” Dean responds and off they go.

They’re traipsing around for a while, and Diego is starting to think they’re just walking in circles because the ground starts feeling denser, more walked on although he _knows_ they’re not.

Then they find themselves on a clearing, ground all soil and a stray tuft of trampled grass here and there. There are two cars parked a decent few feet away from each other and Dean groans.

“It’s the kissing spot.”

“The what?”

“You know, the place where teens go to make out,” Dean explains.

“Oh, right,” _Diego totally knew that_.

Dean opens his mouth to say something else, but a gunshot rings out through the night and they take off in a run in the direction they came from. Diego’s heart beats in his throat, Dean swearing faintly next to him as they run faster when another shot sounds off.

John’s flashlight is laying on the ground, reflecting the light off the shiny surface of a gun that’s been kicked out of his hand. John is on the ground as well, something humanoid-ly shaped writhing above him, trying to bite his face off.

Dean shoots at it. The bullet hits its target and the beast howls in pain, turning its head and snarling with too many teeth at them. It forgets all about John and lunges for them.

Diego swears because, shit, that thing is ugly, and then because Dean pushes him to the side moments before getting tackled to the ground himself.

“Dean!” John yells and scrambles for his gun, but Diego knows he won’t get it in time. If the safety is on (unlikely, but still possible), he won’t get it off fast enough.

He doesn’t think too much, just pulls one of his knives out of his pocket and throws it. He knows where it’s going to hit before it’s completely out of his hand, sinking in between what passes for shoulder blades.

The werewolf howls, sounding more like a cat that got hit by a car that Klaus brought home once than a dog, and arches, trying to dislodge the blade.

Then it gives a sharp yelp, now exactly what a hurt dog would sound like, as yet another shot pierces the air and collapses on the ground.

Dean huffs, laying spread eagle on the ground, gun still gripped tightly in his hand. He peers at the blade sticking out of its back.

“Your weirdness is just getting weirder,” he tells Diego.

“Thanks,” Diego breathes out, nerves tingling. Then he adds, “It’s limited edition.” One of forty-three, if he’s being precise.

“You boys are okay?”

Diego masks his startled jump by getting up on his feet. He actually forgot John is there for a second.

“I’m good,” he says.

“Me too,” Dean groans out, climbing to his feet.

“What now?”

“We burn and bury the body.”

_Naturally_.

He walks over to take his knife back and wipes it off on werewolf’s shirt before placing it back in his pocket.

“Do you always carry that around?” Dean asks.

He shrugs, “Yeah.”

Dean just shakes his head at him in silent amusement.

  * ●●●●



The bus station is absolutely deserted when they get there. The bus arrives in about seven minutes, but guess there are not a lot of people looking to spend the whole night in a bus. Diego checks himself to make sure he didn’t leave anything and exits the car. Dean follows him, waiting while he buys a ticket and then says, “How was that for the first hunt?”

Diego pockets his ticket and shrugs, “Dunno. How was it?”

Dean nods at him, “Not too shabby.” He scratches the back of his neck, looking over Diego’s shoulder for a second before facing him again.

“Listen,” he digs a piece of paper out of his jacket and shoves it at Diego, “if you get across something, uh, weird, and need a hand, you can call.”

Diego looks at the messily written digits underneath all caps “DEAN WINCHESTER” and nods, feeling funny.

“Thanks, I’ll keep it in mind,” he says just as the bus rolls to a stop.

He throws a grin at Dean, says, “Nice meeting you,” while walking backward and then turns to jog up to the bus before it leaves without him.

It starts moving before he even finds a seat, and he follows Dean with his eyes, leaned against his Impala and looking back at Diego. He lifts his hand in goodbye, feeling ridiculous and then less so when Dean waves back, shaking his head in a silent chuckle. He settles on a seat and kicks his feet up to make sure nobody sits next to him and types Dean’s number in his phone.

**Author's Note:**

> If you liked this, feel free to let me know what you think, I'm curious since this is the first time I wrote Diego. No pressure tho :D


End file.
